Between the Lost and the Found
by RenaRoo
Summary: Harper can't resist the glow of the moonlight.


batmanofwestcoast prompted: Number Seven/"Moonlight", Harper Row

I got weird and meta with this one, but I really enjoyed it and I hope you do too!

Disclaimer: Batman and associated characters are the creative property of DC Comics.

 **Between the Lost and the Found**

Harper sits in the chair across from Doctor Thompson's desk. Her posture is stiff and her knees face forward as she looks into Doctor Thompson's face, takes a deep breath, and begins to release the tension between her shoulders with a hiss of air through clenched teeth.

Her hair hangs flatly over her brow, sweatily sticking to her skin as her piercings sting against her skin — still bitterly cold from the outside Gotham air.

She's still in armor from the waist down, her utility belt hangs awkwardly on her hips. But above it is only a sweat soaked halter top undershirt and a twice-worn sports bra too dark for the white tank.

Other than for her own conscience, Harper doesn't _need_ to say her first words to Leslie. The sagely doctor is well aware. But Harper says it anyways.

"I wore my costume tonight and went out on the roofs," Harper announces solidly.

Her words have a metallic taste to them, hard and cold. They're mocking and cruel. They're empowering and independent.

She can't make up her mind about which one she really feels.

"Why?" Leslie asks. Her word is flat, her tone is neutral. Her face is calculated and guarded. But it's still immeasurably sad and disappointed because Harper _knows_ Leslie and she _knows_ how the old doctor feels.

"I didn't have a choice," Harper answers, her stiffness fading fast. Looseness in her limbs caves to the tremendous pressure and she folds back into the chair, her back hitting the seat. "I saved someone tonight."

"Before or after you decided to put on the costume?"

"After," Harper answers without hesitation. Her eyes can't focus on Leslie anymore, she looks to her hands, to her wavering knees, to the floor.

"What made you decide to put on the costume?" Leslie asks again, calm but curious.

"I don't know."

"But you _had_ to?" Leslie questions. "What made you feel like you _had_ to do it, Harper? Was there a reason?"

"There _was_ a reason," Harper almost whispers. She feels her insides twisting in knots.

Having watched Leslie work for a while now, Harper understands the pause's purpose. Leslie is reflecting on Harper's answers so far, and in doing so is letting Harper have the time to breath. To gather herself. And, maybe, reflect on her own words some, too.

Being able to dissect the interaction should make Harper feel better. Feel smarter. Feel _something_ other than sick. But, despite herself, Harper seems to go with the latter reaction as nausea begins to hit her like an evening tide.

"That reason," Leslie hones in on, fully now _Doctor Thompson_ rather than Harper's friend _Leslie._ "When you think about that reason and picture it in your mind… is it inside of you, or is it in front of you?"

"Inside," Harper answers first before shaking her head. "No, it's in front of me. I see it, clear as can be."

There is a hum of contemplation from the doctor.

"Why is it both? Do you _see_ something and then it makes you _feel?"_ she asks intuitively.

"Yes!" Harper exclaims, exasperated. She throws up her arms as she finally flushes fully with the back of her chair. "It's… It's the _moonlight_ , y'know?"

Leslie blinks slowly behind her thin rimmed glasses and tilts her head. "The moonlight?"

"Yeah," Harper continues. "Like… I'll be folding the laundry here on the night shift at the hospital… or I'll be studying for calculus in my dorm room… or sometimes I'll be walking back from the library and all of the sudden I stop. And I see that there's a cool light hitting me through the window or the door or from above the streetlights. And when I look up, I can see that it's the moon. It's out, it's full and it's… beautiful. It's _so beautiful_ even over Gotham. And then I remember when the moonlight used to belong to me. When I would protect the city, race on rooftops. When I was _me._ The most _me_ that I could ever be. I don't have to think about how I don't know things. I'm not wondering whether I like _guys_ or _girls._ I'm not wondering whether I want to go _math_ or _physics._ I'm not thinking about how I need to choose between _interning at Wayne-E_ or continue _volunteering at Gotham General._ Because… Because those decisions are good and good. How do you make a decision between _good and good?_ When. When I put the suit on, I feel like every decision I make is _good_ and _bad._ And that's _so much easier."_

Harper feels dumb saying it, but it comes spilling out of her. And so do the soft tears brimming from her eyes.

She's _certain_ that disappointment is going to still be on Leslie's face when she looks up.

Leslie's face isn't disappointed, though. And it isn't the stoic and careful guarded expression to mask disappointment.

What Harper sees in Leslie's face is _sympathy._

"Sometimes making _good_ and _good_ decisions are harder because making that choice feels like you're choosing the opposite _never_ happening," she explains.

"Yes. _Yes!_ Exactly!" Harper calls out in relief. "What do you _do?"_

The sympathy remains, but there is a new sadness in Leslie's eyes. She stands up from her desk and circles around the corner, coming to Harper's side. Leslie rests down on one knee, holding tightly to Harper's shoulders.

"You choose anyway," Leslie informs her. "You do your best. You sometimes get it wrong. And you keep working — sunlight, moonlight, or making your _own_ light — because you're a good person. You're _growing up._ And making tough choices, even if it means you can't _have it all_ , is what you have to do. Because you've grown up. Because you know, deep down, the moonlight is yours even if you're not wearing a mask. Because whatever you do as _Harper Row_ matters now."

Harper's tears can't be held back, and she doesn't want to hold them back. She throws herself around Leslie's neck and presses her face into the doctor's shoulder.

She's right. And it's not easy. But Harper can do it.

And it _will_ be done. Because she's Harper Row.


End file.
